


a laundry a day keeps the heartbreak away

by sleep_247



Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: "friends", Domestic Fluff, Drama, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, sakuma learns to get over his feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-08-29 22:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16753054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleep_247/pseuds/sleep_247
Summary: It comes as a partial relief to Fudou when he discovers that the source of the pitiful sniffling is in fact,notthe ghost of the overworked animator that died two months ago in his run-down apartment suite, but Sakuma Jirou— esteemed trainer of Teikoku High’s prestigious soccer team— sitting outside of his front door with a crumpled envelope in his hands. A step closer, and the stench of cheap alcohol hits his nose.Fudou grimaces.“Oi...” The brown-haired man nudges Sakuma with a foot. “Isn’t 2 a.m. a little late for a booty call?”(Endou and Kidou announce their marriage. Sakuma is distraught.)





	1. holy fuck it's 2am

**Author's Note:**

> ive decided to write for in11, finally...... i have so many wips im crying

_Ahh, fuck._

Fudou pulls at the thin covers, bringing it over his ears. 

Unless he was having auditory hallucinations, the sound that emanated through his paper-thin walls was unmistakably that of someone crying. _And boy, was it relentless._

He had moved into his current apartment suite knowing that it was stigmatized property ( _how else would he be able to rent a one-room with his measly contract pay?_ )— signed all the paperwork relieving the landlord of all liabilities concerning potential psychological harm and all that jazz— _but damn, really?_

There were no incidents of paranormal activity in the past two months of his residency, and Fudou had been hoping it would remain that way; coaching a bunch of bratty middle schoolers was horrifying enough. 

_“Uuu….”_

_Oh, great— that_ definitely _sounded like human moaning._ Fudou rolls over on his bed and groans, then swings his legs over to the side. 

_If,_ and a huge emphasis on the ‘if’— it really was the ghost of the overworked animator that died in his run-down apartment suite two months prior, Fudou was going to have to find a way to purify the place. Go to a shrine or something, maybe offer cheap sake. (Hell, he didn’t make enough to afford the good stuff, so he hopes the soul of the overworked animator will take pity on him. They were pretty much comrades, right? Underpaid and worked to the bone.) 

Wrapping the worn blanket around his shoulders (for protection from the cold, obviously), he pads over to the front entrance, unlocks the door and turns the metal knob—

It comes as a partial relief to Fudou when he discovers that the source of the pitiful sniffling is in fact, _not_ the wandering soul of the previous (deceased) tenant, but Sakuma Jirou— esteemed trainer of Teikoku High’s prestigious soccer team— sitting outside of his front door with a crumpled envelope in his hands. A step closer, and the stench of cheap alcohol hits his nose. 

Fudou grimaces. Funnily enough, after all they had gone through— from a (fake AND real) alien invasion to hyperdimensional time travel— he doesn’t need to ask what brings the eyepatched man to his doorsteps in such a sorry state. 

Unfortunately for Sakuma, Fudou is way too tired after a long day of coaching and working an evening shift at the cafe; consequently, he is completely out of fucks to give. 

“Oi...” Fudou nudges the sad drunk with a slippered foot. “Isn’t 2 a.m. a little late for a booty call?” 

Sakuma sniffles in response. “Piss off, Fudou....” 

The brown-haired man frowns. “Then take your drunk episode somewhere else that isn’t right in front of my doorstep. You’re gonna summon a ghost or something at this rate, and I can’t afford to move to a new place right now.” 

“Rat,” the trainer retorts, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Don’t know the first thing about comforting a person.” 

“And yet, here you are.” Clicking his tongue, Fudou crouches down to sling Sakuma’s arm around his shoulders, then pulls the drunk man up his feet. Sakuma groans, tottering in his steps. “C’mon, Eyepatch Face— I have a shift in a few hours and I can’t stay home to look after your sorry ass if you catch a cold.” Grunting, Fudou drags the trainer indoors. 

They don’t make it even five steps in before Sakuma heaves and throws up all over Fudou’s sweater.


	2. should've seen it coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half past noon, Sakuma wakes up to a terrible headache and a gaping chasm in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god. i just couldn't find a way to bridge to the next chapter, so please forgive me on how horribly this is written. ;u;

Half past noon, Sakuma wakes up to a terrible headache and a gaping chasm in his heart. 

In vain attempt to alleviate the relentless pounding in his head, he raises a hand to his temples. When his fingers brush against paper, Sakuma frowns, pulling it off with a tug. 

Courtesy of the hangover, it takes a moment to register that the offending object is a sticky note. Small, angular characters, now smudged by his fingers, are scrawled across the yellow square:

_There’s rice gruel on the stove; heat some in the microwave when you’re up to eating._

_P.S. It sucks handwashing your sweater at 3 A.M. Don’t drink past your limit, Straight-Lace._

Sakuma stares at the piece of paper for another minute. 

Then the events of last night strike him with the crushing force of a 10-tonne truck.

 

* * *

 

He is elated when Kidou invites him out for a walk. None of the other Resistance members invited, not even Gendou nor any of their Teikoku teammates of the past— just the two of them, Kidou and Sakuma, at the riverbank by Raimon Junior High. 

They hadn’t spent much time together, ever since Kidou left the junior soccer team under Sakuma’s care to become the replacement coach for Raimon Eleven. Understandably so— Endou had disappeared then, off on his own investigation to uncover the secret behind Fifth Sector and the Seeds. Sakuma had assumed Kidou would return as the head coach for Teikoku with the last election of the Holy Emperor, but the man remained firmly by Endou’s side. 

So when Kidou calls him out of the blue— _“Sakuma, would you care to join me for an evening stroll?”_ — he throws on his jacket without question, tries not to think about how a simple call wrenches him back to his middle school years, back to the days when Kidou would summon him as his trusted right hand, Teikoku an unstoppable force.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

“It’s good to see you, Sakuma. I was afraid it might have been too late into the night….” Kidou gives him a small smile. Under the amber glow of the streetlights that line the riverbank, the man looks softer, serene; Sakuma swallows down the lump in his throat— 

“I couldn’t turn down an offer from Teikoku’s coach, could I?” He replies with a light shrug, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. 

“You know I’ve resigned from that position.” 

Sakuma shakes his head. “Technicalities. You’ve built this team from ground up, after the damage that Kageyama had inflicted on the players and the school… then protected Teikoku’s soccer from Fifth Sector. Regardless of wherever you go, you’ll always be an honorary member of Teikoku, whether you like it or not.” 

The corner of Kidou’s lips twitches in amusement. “I’m honored you think so highly of me, Sakuma.” 

_Well, I think the world of you,_ Sakuma bites down. “Don’t dig for compliments,” he replies instead. _I’m not sure if I can hold back._

The taller man chuckles in response. “Hmm, I guess I shouldn’t push my luck.” 

Warmth blooms in Sakuma’s chest. It’s difficult to contain, the way his heart swells with affection, and he finds himself elbowing Kidou— the emotion turns to giddy elation when Kidou retaliates with a teasing shove.

Before he knows it, he’s shouting, “First one to the top of the hill gets to be granted a wish!” 

Sakuma breaks off into a sprint, hoping that his legs will outrun his feelings.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

“I won’t lie, I’m getting too old for impromptu races up a hill.” 

“...coming from someone who won despite wearing a two-piece suit.” 

Leaning against the tree trunk— the infamous one where Endou had hung his tire for personal training— Sakuma and Kidou collect their breaths. 

“Sakuma,” Kidou starts. “About that wish…” 

Sakuma shakes his head fondly. “So soon? I didn’t think you were the type that cared.” 

“Well, this one is rather important, so I wanted you to hear me out.” 

Carefully, the taller man extracts an envelope from the inside of his suit. Under Sakuma’s curious gaze, Kidou passes the thin envelope to the other man, who receives it with pause. 

“What’s this?” Slender fingers turn the envelope this way and that. There’s a weight to the cardstock that Sakuma doesn’t expect, with a delicate sheen that covers the surface. 

It almost looks like—

“An invitation to my wedding,” Kidou finishes for him. 

“Oh.” 

_Oh._

It’s as if the pit of his stomach plummets to a bottomless chasm. Static fills his ears, and his mind feels blank— Sakuma swallows, unable to take his eyes off of the envelope in his hands. 

“Endou and I are planning to make it official in the coming spring. You’re the first person I’ve invited… it would mean a lot to me, if you could come.”

 

* * *

 

From the corner of his eye, Sakuma spots the now-crumpled envelope on the bedside counter. The miserable feeling that wraps around his heart compounds itself— 

he falls back to bed, a ferverent plea running through his mind for aliens to abduct him from this planet.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me about in11 it's a lonely field here friends


End file.
